At last Paul ceased altogether to think of them.
They belonged to a far-distant past already becoming blurred in his memory.
So Paul lived his queer sedulous life, month after month, year after year, known among the studios as a quaint oddity, drawn out indulgently by the men, somewhat petted, monkey-fashion, by the women, forgotten by both when out of their presence, but developing imperceptibly day by day along the self-centring line.

A kindly adviser suggested a gymnasium to keep him in condition for professional purposes.

He took the advice, and in the course of time became a splendid young animal, a being so physically perfect as to be what the good vicar of Bludston had called him in tired jest--a lusus naturae.

But though proud of his body as any finely formed human may honorably be, a far higher arrogance saved him from Narcissus vanity.

It was the inner and essential Paul and not the outer investiture that was born to great things.
In his eighteenth year he gradually awoke to consciousness of change.
One of his classmates at the Polytechnic institute, with whom he had picked a slight acquaintance, said one evening as they were walking homeward together: "I shan't be coming here after next week.